


We're Ancient History

by BookishTea



Series: Molliarty [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Archaeology, BAMF Molly, Drama & Romance, Egyptology, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Male-Female Friendship, Molly Hooper Appreciation, Mummies, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Violence, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookishTea/pseuds/BookishTea
Summary: When Molly Hooper had begun her scientific expedition, she never knew her time on the dig sites would unearth more than the dead.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank, [whyimmathere](http://whyimmathere.tumblr.com/), and [acutecupidity](https://acutecupidity.tumblr.com/) \- for being the sounding board(s) to which my ideas were bounced off of, and for encouraging me to write this fic. I adore you both. ♥♥♥

                                                           

 

Sigh partially muffled by the ticking of the grand clock across from her, Molly smoothed down the grey fabric of her skirt, mindful of any wrinkles there might be on her person. She had never been a vain individual, but today was different - her appearance must be taken upon with the utmost care. Any fault, any hint of being unprofessional and she feared her chance would be lost.  All of that time and effort would be for nothing. 

Allowing her expression to fall into a grimace, Molly leaned to the side in her chair and picked up her leather briefcase, placing it on her lap and undoing the latches. Peering inside, she calmed considerably when she saw the sheets of paper. Already she had checked a thousand times over, but with every other second she imagined she misplaced the precious documents again. She did the latches back up, returning the bag to the floor. 

Settling back in her chair, Molly peered at the clock once more. She wasn't an idiot, she knew this was all on purpose, making her wait. Lightly cursing under her breath, she leapt from her seat, pacing the waiting room. Shoes clacking on the floorboards merging with the melodious sound of the clock, Molly only paused when she caught sight of a mirror in the corner. Unable to help herself, she came to a halt in front of it and studied her appearance. 

She had wanted to look presentable, but not enough that her colleagues would say she was distracting. Being a scholar and a woman already drew attention to herself, so the ever popular bob worn by her fellow ladies was not an option for her - especially if she considered her colleagues' opinions on the hairstyle. It was too daring, worn by those who were carefree. 

Molly couldn't afford to be rebellious, despite how attractive she found the style. No, she merely pulled her hair back into a bun or chignon. Dramatic makeup had also become something of the past. While her fellow women were using cosmetics to express themselves after the war, it was something else Molly couldn't use with relish. Simplicity was for the better, a little cream, rouge, and lipstick was all she wore.

Eyeing her reflection, Molly leaned forward, contemplating applying another layer as she stared at her lips. At this moment she heard a door open. "Miss Hooper?" Immediately she stepped back, turning to give Mike Stamford a gentle smile.

"Are they finally ready for me?" She felt her smile drop a bit at Stamford's nervous appearance, the constant shifting of his eyes and the rubbing of his hands. "Mike?" She whispered, feeling her stomach drop.

"Yes," he mumbled, glancing behind him. And in a much quieter voice he said "You must be careful, Molly, how you go about this. I mean you have only the best intentions, but..."

"But..." she whispered with an understanding nod. She had to try harder, to make up for her gender. A sense of determination washing over her, Molly dusted off her outfit, and crossed the room to her seat, bending down to pick her briefcase up. She turned back with a smile, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. Desperately she hoped she looked calmer than she felt. "Lead away, Mr Stamford." Thankful for the suit jacket she wore over her tucked in white blouse, she wordlessly blamed her sweating on the heat. She followed him down a short corridor, pausing for him to knock on the door on the left before they headed inside.

* * *

 

The men awaiting her, were by far, several decades her senior. They all sat together, in a neat line at a long table. They glanced up at her, obviously indifferent. It made Molly's back all the more straighter when she took her seat. The meaning behind this room's setup, was not loss on her. The floor to which the panel's chairs rested on, was raised - a contrast to Molly's, who didn't even have the privilege of a table to place her things onto. This layout said one thing, and one thing only: _we have all of the power, and you have none._

She tried to not let that bother her, she was, after all, here to essentially beg. She clutched the bag to her torso, fingernails burying into the leather. These men, they were the ones to decide whether her career would flourish or wilt away. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, gaze narrowing slightly. She had to convince them, to have the University of Oxford and St. Barts to jointly fund her research. If her studies were a success... No, they were going to be, she was sure of it.

"Miss Hooper." She stiffened.

"Yes, sir?"

The man across from her, peered up from the sheet of paper in his hand. "You're here today to pitch your research, are you not?"

"Yes, yes I am."

He set everything down, leaning back in his chair, and threaded his fingers together. "Well, go on. Tell us why we should be putting our money into your inquiry."

She gingerly climbed to her feet, putting her bag down. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she began. "Well... As you all know, your fine institutes have already paired together to offer assistance to my... To the Ashmolean museum. Now, the reason I have called upon you all today, is to begin a line of study that can benefit all." The intensity of their gazes was stronger yet, she had their attention. Molly cleared her throat. "With Mr Carter's discovery in '22, there has been a surge in interest in archaeology. And while that is exciting, I find something lacking."

"Lacking?" One of the directors called out, tone flat.

"Yes," she stressed, holding her arms behind herself. "You all bore witness to the modern media craze, the 'Tutmania' as you will. But what I find worthwhile in studying, is the death culture of the world."

That council member from before, rose a brow. "Excuse me, Miss Hooper. What precisely is the 'death culture'?"

"Sir, that is the question I shall answer with my research. You see, in this vast world, even the most mundane routines are different. The common British man is buried in a way that is completely opposite to that of a man who lived in Ancient Egypt."

Another member called out to her, "Miss, these ridiculous rituals you reference are nothing short of obscene. What useful information can one gather from people that worshiped cat gods, and what have you?"

It was a struggle to keep the bite from her tone, as she said, "The very same logic could be used for our own society, sir. Was it not long ago where it was customary to cover mirrors within a home to prevent spirits from being trapped? Is that not, a ridiculous ritual, as you put it?" After she finished, immediately Molly wanted to slap herself. She shouldn't have done that, it was just the thing they looked out for. And she'd fallen for it.

Cold sweat running down her spine, she glanced to the corner of the room, where Mr Stamford was standing. The worry on his face was plain, making her mistake all the more apparent. It was several minutes before anyone spoke. The head of the group, cleared his throat, taking his eye glasses off to wipe them with a cloth. "We'll be taking a recess, Miss Hooper, to consider your reasoning. Please wait outside."

She opened her mouth, but swiftly closed it. With a hurried nod, she collected her things, and wordlessly left. As soon as the door closed behind her, she sighed, staring into space. _I'm a complete idiot..._ Molly tapped her forehead with her knuckles, berating herself for her foolishness as she walked down the corridor.

Returning to her chair, she plopped down. All she could pray for now, was that somehow Mike could convince them to accept her. Even if it wasn't her at the helm of the idea, at least they could expand upon it. There was just so much promise, she hated the thought that it would go to waste.

"Lord," she sighed, "me and my tongue."

 

It was several minutes before she heard any noise from the room. Stiffening at the sound of shoes hurrying down the hallway, she was left to gape at Mike's flushed face. She was just about to ask if he was well, when he ran up to her, grabbing a hold of her arm and yanking her from her chair. "What on- Mr Stamford!" She sputtered, dragged back to the room. "What's happening?" She hissed. He merely shook his head, ushering her inside once more.

The members chattering immediately fell silent, their clear dislike having goosebumps rising to Molly's skin. With one last push, she now stood in the middle of the room, bearing the full weight of their scrutiny.

"Miss Hooper, we're done considering your words, and..."

"Yes...?" 

"We'll fund it-"

Molly made a strangled noise, a second from leaping into the air, before he held a hand out. "But, there's a condition."

"A... a condition? What condition?"

"While we are willing for you to have a major role in the direction of the expedition, there will be some restrictions."

"Re-"

"For someone such as yourself, this is a task of a large scale. We don't want you struggling with that, so, you will be partnered with another for the research."

"Another?" Molly croaked. "Who?" This idea had been her's, and her's alone - in more than one way, it was her baby. The idea of sharing it was unpleasant, but... _Don't you want this?_ The voice in her head snapped.  _Who cares that they're limiting you because of your gender, take it._

"You're already an acquaintance of his."  _An acquaintance?_

* * *

  _Hours later_

 

"Can you believe it?" She spat out angrily. "Being forced into working along side, Mr Anderson.  _Philip Anderson_." She shook her head, "I might as well ask help from a rock."

"Who knows," Meena called out, lounging on her best friend's study chair. "He may be of some use." Molly spun around.

"Did you not hear what I said? I'm stuck with Anderson!"

"Oh, dear. I heard. But think of how this could benefit you." She waved off her friend's sputtering, "Listen. There's no doubt in my mind that he's not happy about it either. Most definitely he was called upon to supervise, so you should take advantage of that. While he lazes about, you can work diligently."

"But..." Molly tossed her stack of folders onto the desk. "He'll only be a hindrance. How can I possibly work properly while peering over my shoulder? Making sure he isn't into some mischief?" She frowned at her friend's shrug.

"Perhaps you can come to some truce?"

 

"Truce? What kind of truce?"

"Well..." Molly hurried to fall after Anderson, heels clacking loudly on the tiles. "We can share the findings." She barely missed running into him. Taking a step back, she glared at her colleague's back. Her grimace was wiped away from her face when he turned around.

"Weren't we already doing that? Sharing the glory?"

"Glory?" Molly mumbled, "There isn't any glory - aside from making records of countle-" He silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Please, spare me the lecture."

"I'm not-" She bit her own tongue, compelling her fingers to uncurl. With a deep, steadying breath, she tried again, but in a sweeter voice this time. "What exactly are you looking for, Mr Anderson? To pay for your compliance?"

He had the nerve to smile, expression slimy as he tapped a finger on his chin. "You get an allowance, don't you?" Slowly Molly nodded her head, not liking where this was going. "I think it's only right that I get half, for my academic advice."

"Half?! I don't earn that much!"

"And how is that my fault? This was your idea, wasn't it?"

Molly ground her teeth. She knew this would never happen if she was born a man, the question of her credibility would never be raised. "Oh for... Fine!" 

Anderson's grin stretched, "I'm glad you finally saw it my way." 

Molly glanced downwards, seething at the outstretched hand being offered. It was a feat alone to accept the gesture, and to shake his hand. After it was done, Molly stood in Oxford's halls, watching as her 'partner' slithered off. She had a feeling then, that her time spent with him would test her patience unlike any other moment in her life. But, she had no way of knowing, not even in her wildest of dreams, how that trip would change everything.


	2. Saying Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you all are doing well. I just want to preface this chapter by saying, that even though I'll be writing this fic, I may not update as quickly as I usually do with the others. The main reason behind that, is that I want to do this era justice, so I've been doing a lot of research. Maybe more than necessary to some, but I'm a little bonkers that way.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy this chapter(and future ones). Love you tons, dears! xx

This passion of her's, for those who have long since passed, always seemed to follow her throughout life. Why else would such a remarkably educated woman such as herself, go into this field? 

It was, perhaps, last year that sparked this maddening journey. A moment in her life, that at this point, was recalled as if it were a dream.

 

_1924, University of Oxford_

 

Molly paused, hand outstretched towards the door knob, but not touching it yet. There were a million thoughts racing through her head, half wanting her to flee, while the other wanted her to follow this through - to say to hell with anxiety, and force herself beyond social restrictions. 

There was a world on the other side of the door, that she so desperately wanted to be a part of. But she was terrified by the thought that she'd be rejected, that indeed she was just a silly woman with even sillier ideas. She sucked in a breath, and ignored the pit in her belly. Quickly, she grabbed onto the knob and twisted it, sneaking inside before she could further discourage herself.

The spacious, wooden lecture hall, carried the sound of her entry. She tried not wince, to remain proud as she walked down the aisles for a free seat. The eyes on her person made that a difficult task. The whispering from the other attendants, bounced off of the walls, and made it so the noise surrounded her. 

Thankfully, Molly found an empty chair. She set her briefcase on the floor, and sat down, placing the notebook she'd carried under her arm onto the table. Pointedly, she kept her eyes straight ahead, trying to assure herself:  _you have every right to be here. Ignore them. You're worthy, you-_

She straightened, bending to the side to take a pen from her bag when the lecturer walked to the podium. Immediately she smiled. She'd been first introduced to him by the papers written by Mr H. V. Morton of the Times, and was swiftly enchanted. He presented himself as a man who cared greatly for the Egyptian culture, something that to the masses, was still so mysterious. 

If she met him on a street, Molly may not have taken him as someone who was academically renowned. No, Howard Carter had the appearance of an average British man. The outfit he wore, a simple suit and hat, didn't relate the archaeological importance he held.

Mr Carter cleared his throat roughly, immediately ridding whatever mumbling there was amongst the students. "It was 1914, that I was first granted permission to excavate the Valley of the Kings. However, we hadn't gotten far in the way of work, when the Great War broke out. I was called upon by o-"

 

_Presently, London_

 

After that, she knew she couldn't escape this want to discover the unknown. To remember those who were once forgotten, to honour their memory. There was one quote in particular that Mr Carter said, that stuck with her. She whispered it to herself now, "It soon became obvious that we were but on the threshold of discovery."

She fumbled with an envelope, holding it against her chest. Inside was a letter, one that spoke far more about her heart than her lips would permit. She shifted her weight, glancing away from the door. All she had to do was knock, but why was that so difficult? Why did she tremble with the idea of doing such a small action?

Molly inhaled, and released her shaky breath in a gush. "You can do it," she said softly, "you can be brave." Before she could think better of it, Molly jogged up the rest of the steps to the porch, and rose her fist up to rap it against the wood.

"Dr Hooper? Is that you?" She spun on her heel, swiftly relaxing her hand into an awkward wave.

"Er- Hello there, Dr Watson."

From the sidewalk, John shook his head. "Please, John is fine." He walked until he was a few feet away from her. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Um..." Her grip on the envelope tightened, and slowly she hid it behind her back. "Do you happen to know if Mr Holmes is in?"

"Sherlock? No, I'm afraid he isn't. Is there anything I could help you with?"

The hand she hid, crumpled the letter up. "No... The reason I came here was rather silly..."

"Are you sure?" John sniffed, sticking his hands within his pockets. "I've been told I'm a fine listener." And that is precisely how, Molly found herself in a coffeehouse, seated across from the doctor. Before she knew it, she had told him of her project, and all that she hoped would become of it. But more importantly, she told him of her fears. It was a large world out there, the majority of which she'd been sheltered from by her libraries. She didn't know why she told him all that she did, but perhaps that was because of his kind disposition.

It was a while before he spoke, fiddling with his teacup. "I understand how you feel."

Molly peered up, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice. "You do?" John nodded.

"Of course. I'd only done my medical practice in Britain, but with the Great War, I suddenly found myself being shipped off to Kamerun."

"I don't mean to pry..."

"By all means, ask away."

"What was it like...?"

John lifted a brow, "War? Or Africa?"

"Everything!" With the sudden loudness of her voice, Molly then seemed to remember where she was. After an embarrassed glance over her shoulder, she continued in a quieter voice. "Please only share what you're comfortable with."

John turned to stare out of the window looking over the street, as if he could still see the colony beyond the glass. His voice drifted above them, mixing together with the chatting ambiance of the other patrons. "We arrived early August, so we were in the main rainy season. I remember it being difficult to move, I was constantly getting stuck in mud. Not the best that, when you're trying to get to a wounded soldier." He lifted his cup to his mouth, taking a lengthy sip before he went on. "It isn't like here. The days are hot and wet, but at night, it would get so cold. Falling asleep was nearly impossible. I'd never been more miserable."

"Weren't you afraid? Of getting sick or hurt and not returning home?"

John shrugged. "As sad as it is to say, I didn't have much waiting for me." Molly chewed on her bottom lip; she identified with that too much. She could only hope with this expedition, that would change. After all, they say that with absence the heart grows fonder. 

* * *

  _Alexandria, Egypt_

 

It seemed most logical, to start where the renewal of death culture had begun. After fifteen long days cooped on an ocean liner, they arrived at the port city. By the time they docked, Molly was nearly frantic to get off. She had read plenty of the world, and all of the splendour it had to offer, but to experience it for herself was something completely different. And not to mention, if she spent another minute stuck on the same vessel as Anderson, she might push him over a railing and into the sea.

She climbed down the steps, and to a dock, breathing in the thick hot air. The noise, the noise didn't shock her too much. Life in London had prepared her for all matter of bustling people, although the mixture of foreign language was strange to her ears. Molly adjusted her grip on a briefcase, stepping to the side as other passengers came down. What had come to a complete surprise, was the amount of people that came from her own country.

All of which had a wealth that Molly couldn't imagine having, no, their fancy dresses and suits were an utter contrast to her own. From all of her reading, she knew Egypt's weather could be unforgiving, as would be her future work. So, she decided a blouse and skirt of the thinnest material she could find would do - at least until she was further away from society's critical gaze.

"Heaven forbid, the sun burns any brighter."

Molly rolled her eyes, not bothering to look over her shoulder as Anderson came down.  At least one of them had done research before deciding to come along. Pointedly, she held her straw hat down with a free hand. "Complaining isn't going to make you feel better."

He huffed beside her, "No, but resting at the hotel will." She finally spun to look at him, squinting only partially from the sunlight. 

"What hotel!? We still have to arrive at Cairo! The council was kind enough to arrange a place to stay."

"Yes, a couple of rooms at a hovel."

Molly's grip tightened. "Where's your gratitude? A true gentleman offers his home, and you can only talk about how it isn't grand enough for you?" She shook her head. "If your hotel is that important to you, then fine, stay here. I'll find Professor Breasted by myself." She strolled forward, weaving through the crowds as she ignored his calls.

"Hooper!?"

She eventually found herself on a street, standing on the tips of her toes as she craned her neck. There was supposed to be a vehicle waiting for her, but it was hard to tell which one would take her to the famed Egyptologist. She sighed aloud when she heard someone run up to her, breath laboured.

"You shouldn't have done that!"

"And why not?" She cast him a glare, turning back with a pleased smile when she saw an automobile roll to a stop before them. 

"You can't be serious?" Anderson looked around, before he leaned to the side, and whispered into her ear. "There isn't a gentle soul among the locals."

Molly sniffed, muttering under her breath, "Apparently not with the tourists as well." 

From the Tin Lizzie, a tanned, finely moustached face peered out. "Dr Hooper I presume?" The American accent took her aback for a second. Even though she knew he was born in Chicago, the sound of it seemed bizarre given their location. She shook the feeling off.

"Yes," she walked forward, accepting the hand held out through the window. Eagerly she shook it, "And you must be Professor Breasted?"

"I am, James Henry Breasted at your service. Although calling me by James will do just as well."

"Just the same, you may call me Molly." She ignored the snort behind her, and handed her luggage to the man who clambered out of the vehicle. "Thank you," she said, slipping past him and taking the front passenger seat. While her things were set in the boot, Molly folded her hands into her lap, and shyly peered at the moustached man beside her. "I have to admit, Mr James, I'm a fan of your work."

Mr Breasted, shot her a surprised, but pleased smile. "Are you now?"

"Yes, after I first read of the Tomb of Tutankhamen being discovered, I was fascinated to learn of your involvement in deciphering the seals found inside. As someone who works closely with the dead, I greatly admired your dedication."

"Ah yes, well..." Mr Breasted trailed off, glancing into the side-view mirror to check that Anderson and his staff climbed in, before he switched gears. "From what I heard, the task you're undertaking is a noble, and most certainly an onerous one."

Molly directed her gaze to the window, watching the foreign landscape pass by. "I'm no stranger to challenges, Mr James." The professor spared her a glance, before he turned his sight back to the road, mindful of the people carelessly darting across. 

"There's no doubt in my mind, Miss Molly, that is the case. Already I can tell of your dedication to ancient civilizations, and the need to preserve them and their teachings. We're of a kindred spirit when it comes to that. However, I understand how troublesome that may be. If you ever need any assistance, or advice, I hope you will find comfort in whatever wisdom I can offer." Silence stretched between them, partially because Molly couldn't fathom how she could possibly respond. 

Never before had she been so touched, that a fellow scholar would so willingly aid her. She was so used to working so much harder for her studies, that the idea of turning to someone had become a laughable thought - no, if she did that, she didn't want to be imagined as a lesser. That, she couldn't solve problems by herself, and needed male guidance. However, Mr Breasted didn't mean it that way. 

In fact, his mentorship came from the best of intentions. Molly chewed on her bottom lip. She couldn't stop herself from thinking of her late father, and how this elderly historian calmed her just as easily. "I... I would like that very much."


	3. Shepheard

_Cairo, Egypt_

 

Tin Lizzie parked, Mr Breasted led them to their home for the next couple of days - at least, until they recovered from their onerous journey to travel to the Valley of the Kings. While the servants carried in their luggage, their host showed them around. In every room, the windows were opened, allowing the dry wind to sweep inside, rustling the leaves of the several potted plants that resided in every corner. From the intricate rugs that covered the ceramic tiled floors, to the many priceless artefacts that were nestled casually with dark furniture that Molly recognized from home, it all left her speechless.

However, she came to realize, the finest sight to behold was within Mr Breasted's private study. He ushered them in wordlessly, smiling when he heard Molly's gasp. Next to his desk, resting on a perch that overlooked the room, was a Levant sparrowhawk. 

As a colleague to several gentlemen, she was quite aware of the falconry clubs that were in London. But she never expected to share a room with a bird of prey on her travels. Not wanting to scare the beautiful creature, slowly Molly approached. Just enough to get a better look, she didn't want it to fly off or attack her. A possibility, considering the sparrowhawk wasn't tethered off. 

Gently, she asked, "And who might you be?" 

From behind her, an amused voice responded, "Isis."

"Ah," the corner of Molly's lips pulled up in a smile, "after the goddess. Very fitting." What a beauty. Pale grey feathers mixed together with brown, and eyes so dark that they were almost black, regarded her cautiously. Immensely Molly wanted to touch her, to see if she felt as silken as she looked. 

Anderson asked disinterestedly, "And why's that?" Swiftly, destroying the mood. Molly rolled her eyes heavenwards, still mystified that his position was equal to hers, as she took her seat across from Mr Breasted's desk. 

Patience apparently greater, the professor sat down in his plush chair, hands knitted together as he cast a fond glance to his winged companion. "It comes from a legend, Mr Anderson." 

"A legend?"

Mr Breasted leaned forward. "Yes. When the goddess Isis's husband, Osiris, was murdered. She transformed into a sparrowhawk, hovering over his body, and using the flapping of her wings to fan life into him. Isis, then conceived a child, who would become the god of kingship and sky, Horus."

"And do you believe it? This rubbish?"

The Egyptologist dismissed Molly's hissed, "Anderson," with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry, Dr Hooper. No offence was taken..." However, when his gaze slid over to the other part of their party, his expression was less than pleased. Steadily, he pinned the other man down with a scowl. "While, I may not agree wholly with the legends, Mr Anderson. I do recognize it as something of importance to the locals, the least I can do, is respect that."

There were several minutes that passed by, filled with a tense silence until Mr Breasted looked away from the sulking Anderson. He directed his gaze once more to Molly, and significantly, his expression brightened. "You are more than welcomed to stay here tonight, and the following days until you begin your journey. However, I'm afraid I have a small task for you."

Molly rose a brow, "A task, Mr James?"

"Yes." Mr Breasted smiled apologetically. "I'm terribly sorry, I'm sure you're eager to rest, but there's a certain gentlewoman who has been patiently awaiting your arrival."

Frowning, Molly gestured to herself in disbelief. "Someone has been waiting for me?" She cast a glance at the glowering man seated beside her, correcting herself with a "For us?"

Mr Breasted nodded slowly, "I'm afraid so." He leaned back, opening one of his desk drawers to retrieve a slip of paper. He passed it over, saying as Molly scanned the written text. "You'll find her at that address. When you return, dinner, and your rooms shall be ready for you."

Molly folded the paper in half, and climbed to her feet. Pointedly, she ignored her companion's grumbling, and said, "Thank you." Smiling, she glanced admiringly at Isis before she took her leave. A servant opened the door, leading them back down to the garage.

As she climbed into the Tin Lizzie, Anderson started to complain once more. "I can't believe this!" He hissed. "We've only just bloody arrived, and we're off again! And to heaven knows where that professor is sending us! It..." Anderson took the seat next to her, anxiously peering at the wordless driver behind the wheel, before he whispered harshly in her ear. "It could be an _opium den!_ _"_

She rolled her eyes. "We have those in London too. And besides," she passed him the paper, "it'll be the nicest opium den you've ever seen." He hurriedly opened it, considerably relaxing when he read the contents. Neatly written was:

 _Shepheard's Hotel. Lady Beauchamp._  

 

Half an hour later, they came to a stop before a beautiful building. And while this was her first time walking these lands, Molly wasn't ignorant of this hotel. It was, in fact, loved the whole world over. The massive architectural masterpiece that it was, stood out amongst the rest of the buildings on Ibrahim Pasha Street. Its terrace in particular, was well known. For the longest time, this was the hotel which all manner of the wealthy and celebrities fled to.

For a moment, Molly stood on the street, neck craned back as she took it in all of its glory. Too many stained glass windows to count, granite pillars that reminded her of Ancient Egyptian temples, and a promise of shelter against the sweltering sunlight. She lowered her head, and with a deep inhale, she strolled forward.

* * *

 

Immediately, Molly was self conscious as she walked through the main entrance to the lavish lobby. The halls were filled with socialite tourists, well-dressed and without a care to the world or to the waiters, who glided through the halls while wearing fezzes and enigmatic expressions. 

Chewing on her bottom lip, Molly worriedly smoothed down the fabric of her skirt before she approached the front desk. At the sound of their nearing, the concierge[[1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525783/chapters/37862855#chapter_3_endnotes)] lifted his head, and donned a friendly smile. "Hello, madame," he glanced at Anderson, "and sir. How may I assist you?"

Molly tried not to think about how he inspected their outfits, and the flicker of chagrin that followed. "Hello. One of your guests is expecting us for a visit, a Lady Beauchamp."

The concierge bristled before his smile widened, "Is she now? We'll ring her up to alert Lady Beauchamp of your arrival. Please wait here, while we notify her. It'll only take a few moments." Nodding, Molly stepped away from the desk and moved to the side, gesturing for Anderson to do the same.

"What do you think?" She whispered.

"Well..." Anderson turned slightly, gaze sweeping over the interior of the grand entrance hall. "It's not what I would have picked." He mumbled, studying the thick columns engraved with lotus at the top, and the high ceiling(s), which made it seem that they were in a palace rather than a hotel.

Annoyed, Molly shook her head. "No, I meant the reason behind a lady summoning us."

"Oh..." He made a show of crossing his arms, and mulling it over. "Perhaps," he started slowly, "she wanted the company of a fellow Englishwoman? I can imagine it's been difficult," his gaze strayed away from her, squinting at a waiter, "considering the.... Natives."

Molly bit hard on the inside of her cheek, barely keeping her anger in check. Her companion greatly needed to be scolded, but it would have to wait until they were in private. This wasn't the time and place for a tongue-lashing, not when Molly suspected, the lady would be assessing their little research party.

Shoes clacking on tiles, their attention was thankfully directed to the approaching concierge and a porter. The staff member's disposition had warmed immensely since they last spoke. _Most likely_ , Molly thought with a frown,  _because the wealthy lady confirmed our visit._

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Lady Beauchamp will see you now."

"Lovely," she mumbled under her breath, flanked by Anderson as she followed the silent porter down the hall to the main staircase. She couldn't help but note as they climbed the steps, the two life-sized bronze statues of women that were placed at the bottom. The common Englishman might be scandalized by the display of the two art pieces, as surely, the sputtering Anderson behind her was horrified by their exposed breasts, but to Molly - who had spent many years working on the deceased and their naked bodies, it was charming. And although she hadn't frequented art clubs, she could still admire the care and skill that went into sculpting them. Hands stretched over their heads, each bronze woman held an electric lamp, intertwining the old and their ancient headdresses, with the new.

Up the long, twisting staircase they travelled, and once they stepped onto the landing, they headed into a room with a set of thick doors. When she first thought of her meeting with the lady, she had pictured the quiet setting of a bedroom or study. Instead, they were led into a restaurant. There weren't too many people inside, which eased a bit of Molly's tension.

In itself, the room was beautiful, decorated like a Fabergé egg. The high ceiling was painted, with multi-coloured lamps that hung from the walls, and a water fountain by the entrance. They crossed the spacious room to the very back, where a lone woman sat at a round clothed table. She looked up from her meal, lowering her spoon from her consommé.[[2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525783/chapters/37862855#chapter_3_endnotes)]

A waiter appeared behind the lady, and pulled her chair back, allowing her to elegantly rise to her feet. "Hello," Lady Beauchamp greeted softly, "You must be Miss Hooper." Embarrassed, Molly remembered to remove her straw hat before they shook hands over the table.

"Yes, I am." After they released one another, Molly gestured to the man lingering behind her. "And this is my colleague, Mr Anderson."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, now please, take a seat." As soon as the words left her mouth, two more waiters suddenly appeared and pulled the chairs back. Molly fought off her apprehension with a smile, and sat down, shooting a glance to Anderson so he followed suit.

"Now," Lady Beauchamp started, "I hear the first stop of your expedition is to the tombs?" She leaned forward, smiling encouragingly as she laced her fingers, putting her glimmering jewellery on full display. Immediately, Molly peered at the wedding band, silently moving her own hands to rest on her lap. Truly, she was proud of her education, and the path that led her to it, but all of the books in the world couldn't dismiss the fact that Molly had yet to marry. And while she didn't regret it most days, today was an exception.

Before she could squash it down, her chest squeezed with envy. Seated across from her, was a pretty, young married woman. Who reminded Molly, with her short curled hair, of her imperfections. "Yes," Molly began after a moment, "we want to visit the Valley, and interview the locals."

"The locals?" Lady Beauchamp arched a brow. "Whatever for?"

Molly frowned. "If we want to record death culture in its entirety, gathering information from the source is essential."

Lady Beauchamp sniffed, her gaze became distant. "Knowledge?" She mumbled. "What more can be gained from this unforgiving place?"

With an inward wince, Molly remembered it had only been a few years since her companion's father died. Lord Carnarvon's death, had become something of a spectacle. Thinking of her own late parent, Molly smiled sadly. "I... I'm terribly sorry for your loss. It's never easy, losing a loved one.[[3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525783/chapters/37862855#chapter_3_endnotes)]"

"Yes," the other woman sighed, blinking harshly. "While my father's remains are finally home, there are a few matters, I must attend to with my husband before I return to England." Noticing their stares, Lady Beauchamp lifted her head with a smile. "But I assure you, it's only of a small consequence. Settling a few purchases."

"I assume you mean for your collection?"

"You would assume right, Miss Hooper." Lady Beauchamp's smile widened. "Tell me, how long do you intend to stay in Egypt?"

"Um, we're not certain of a specific date, only that we'll leave once the work is complete."

"I'd be troubled by that..." Any facade of happiness fell from her face, and she leaned forward, eyes hard as she hissed, "out staying my welcome."

Molly knew that Lady Beauchamp meant well, that she was simply letting grief overtake her, but that didn't stop the dread from knotting Molly's stomach. A sense of nausea washing over her, she hurriedly excused herself and pushed her chair back. To the sound of Anderson's surprised squawking, Molly quickly exited, straw hat clenched tightly in her hand as she felt the weight of the room on her.

* * *

 

As soon as she stepped out onto the balcony, Molly gasped for air, stumbling to a railing to stay upright. Head bent, she mumbled to herself, "What am I doing?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Face ablaze, Molly swiftly straightened, spinning to face the owner of the amused voice. "I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's quite all right, Miss...?" The man inquired softly, the Irish lilt of his voice calmed her considerably, bringing her back to the streets of her home. There was laughter in his large dark eyes, and with a wordless curse, Molly realized just how attractive the man before her was.

He was casually leaning on the railing, cigarette dangling from his hand as smoke spilled from his lips. 

"H-Hooper," she forced out, "Margaret Hooper. But I..." She broke off, biting her bottom lip. It was hard to focus, especially with the confidence that oozed from his person. In response, tiny butterflies were fluttering in her belly, something she hadn't felt since.... Molly winced, turning away from this stranger and his slicked back hair, and brown tweed three-piece suit. "...I prefer to be called Molly."

" _Molly_." The way in which he spoke, made it seem like he was tasting her name rather than saying it. She couldn't help but shiver, fingers clenching as she stared imploringly out onto the palm gardens and its wandering flamingos and pelicans, as though that would calm her racing heart. Still feeling his heavy gaze on her, she slightly turned her head, hammering of her heart filling her ears. Everything fell away, the loud noise of the city and the hotel, as he grinned crookedly at her. "It's a delight to meet you, I'm James Moriarty." Her gaze slowly lowered to the hand he was holding out.

She didn't bring her gloves, and yet.... An odd thrill went through her, when she accepted the gesture, feeling the warmth of his hand race up her arm and settle in her chest. Stretching contently, like a cat bathing in the sun. She peered upwards, then knowing, when her own shy smile stretched across her face, that she was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 While it would have been more historically accurate to refer to the concierge as instead a "Suisse," I felt it would be easier to understand if I kept the former. In case you don't know what I'm talking about, the term was popular during the 19th to early 20th century.  
> 2 The reference of a French soup, comes from published Egyptian cookbooks that come from the 1930s to 50s'. Many Egyptian professional chefs trained under European chefs, who went to work in the kitchens of luxury hotels and elite residences in Cairo and Alexandria.  
> 3 On April 5th, 1923, George Herbert, or better known as Lord Carnavon died. The financial backer of the search and excavation of Tutankhamen's tomb, he was one of the original four that entered the inner burial chamber, and his sudden death encouraged the belief of a curse befalling him and all those who disrupted the grave.  
> ↓ It's also important to note, that the idea of a "curse" was sustained by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who said in an interview, "...that is the way in which the 'elementals' (curses) guarding the mummy might act."


	4. *Intermission*

As soon as they pulled away from one another, Moriarty's smile widened. "It seems," he started - pausing to take a deep drag from his cigarette. After he exhaled, he continued softly, "this is your first time being away from the British Isles?"

"It is," she admitted shyly, rubbing awkwardly at one of her arms, "is it _that_   obvious?"

Moriarty lazily shrugged, action contrasting to the sharpness of his gaze, which licked knowingly over her person. "Perhaps not to most, but I have a reputation for seeing the... Invisible."

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, fighting a smile. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of something being 'invisible?'" For a moment her companion was silent, which immediately made Molly's stomach knot up. For she feared then, that she'd said the wrong thing, that Mr Moriarty would be like the others and dislike a woman that could retort with her own dash of wit. The disappointment she felt, was short-lived, as Moriarty shot her a glance of enjoyment. And curiously enough, her chest swelled with a sense of relief and achievement. 

"Quite," Moriarty agreed with a chuckle, rising his cigarette to his lips. They lapsed once more into comfortable silence, with a military band below their balcony making their way into the garden, and setting up before their performance. Molly and Moriarty wordlessly watched, strangely at ease in the other's presence as the first notes of music drifted on the hot air. 

While the gentle music soothed their souls, carefully Molly leaned forward, laying her arms on the railing. With a cautious glance to the side, making an attempt of memorizing the profile of the gentleman beside her, Molly found herself continuing their conversation. That took her aback, usually when she stood alongside a man that had handsome features, her tongue was twisted to the point where she could hardly say her name - much less have any sort of discussion. 

And yet, here she was, all the same giving it a foolish attempt. Inwardly, she winced at the decidedly flirtatious tone of her own voice. "Is there much of an occupation in seeing the imperceptible?"  _What am I doing?_    _I don't have much practice with men, why am I trying now?_

The sound of her companion's laughter gave her all the answer she needed. "You'd be surprised, Miss Molly." He leaned forward, flicking ash from his cigarette and turning slightly to give her a crooked grin. In response, Molly anxiously shifted her weight, drawing her arms tight to her chest as she became aware of how close they were. How for one baffling moment, a man was actually paying attention to her, and how much she liked it.

Moriarty took half a step to the side, so he was closer to her person. And at once, the drumming of her heart joined the drifting noise of the instruments below, loud and rapid as her companion's eyes crinkled with a smile. Promptly, Molly forgot all manner of things, such as her name and what had been her mission a mere half an hour ago. Likewise, the Valley and its kings was swept from her mind, like a torrid breeze on desert sand dunes.

Words caught in her throat, Molly weakly looked away, hoping the flush state of her cheeks looked naturally due to the temperature.

"Tell me," Moriarty started, tender voice making tiny butterflies eagerly flap their wings in Molly's belly. "Why is a treasure such as yourself being added to this land's collection?"

Molly couldn't help but snort, shaking her head in disbelief. She needed a minute to gather herself, but thankfully, the man beside her didn't seem to mind. No, in fact he appeared to relish in the many pauses she needed. Molly took in a deep breath to calm herself, but she was still dizzy from the heat of his nearness and his scent. Something akin to sweet grass, and a cedar forest after a heavy downpour - rain, which reminded her so much of the country she'd left behind. 

Without reason or thought, a wave of melancholy crashed into her, as did a sense gratitude. The severity of it, caught Molly completely off guard. How much she missed her home, and what few friends she had there.

"Molly..." Startled, she felt a finger tentatively turn her face away from the band and their bright red uniforms. Her eyes widened in shock, feeling him tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Voice soft and sweet, Moriarty said, "You do the world a terrible shame, hiding a face as beautiful as yours..." He broke off with a grin, listening to her sharp intake of breath.

"Y-you're..." Her gaze switched away from him to the landscape, and back again. Molly knew she was at a loss, that all of the time she'd spent reading fanciful novels about true love blossoming between two lovers, hadn't been enough to prepare her for this. There wasn't a list of instructions she could follow, or anyone to ask their advice on the matter. Well... She _could_ ask Moriarty, but... Her fingernails pressed into the creases of her bent arms. That would be most certainly too embarrassing to do.

Molly's nose scrunched, and she surprised even herself when she whispered, "Mr James, you're a flirt."

She took it, from his own blinking, that she wasn't the only one she'd amazed. The expression didn't last long, as it was soon overtaken with another smile. Although, this one was more coy than the rest. "I sincerely wish that there isn't anything wrong with that?" His smile broadened when Molly made a show of shrugging her shoulders, as if there wasn't a delightful rosy hue to the apples of her cheeks.

Unable to help himself, and curious as to what her reaction would be, Moriarty let his hand gently fall down. His thumb barely brushed against the side of her jaw, but it was enough that they were both aware of it. And while she was still reeling from the contact, he unfolded the arm nearest to him - gingerly, so she didn't consider him a threat, and could pull away at any moment. Movements slow, he lifted up her arm, and turned it towards himself.

Hypnotized, Molly could merely stare as he bowed forward. It was as though an electrical current went through her, where she felt his lips sweep across. "You know," he mumbled, peering up at her through his eyelashes. "If you're not careful, I could get used to the sound of you saying my name."

Just as Molly started to think she was going purple in the face, Moriarty's lips pressed a little firmer, then, he wordlessly released his hold on her and straightened. Immediately, the arm he dropped fell slack. The owner, seemingly unaware of.

Moriarty stamped what was left of his cigarette on the railing, before he flicked it over. As it sailed away, he lightly brushed his suit off, and took his leave from the balcony. At the door frame heading back inside, he paused to look over his shoulder, calling out, "I'm not a man who typically prays, Miss Molly... But I wish in the near future, our paths will cross again."

He lingered not a second longer, and with the sound of the door being shut, Molly snapped out of her stupor. Only truly moving when another minute passed, just to be sure that she was in fact, alone. Satisfied that she was, Molly clasped her face, and shakily exhaled. " _Christ._ "

 

Sebastian looked up at the melodious whistle, turning in his chair to watch as his employer closed the door. He started to stand up, but the wave of permission had him sitting back down again. Perplexed, he frowned at his boss, "You're in high spirits..." It was a complete opposite to an hour prior, where a business meeting that seemed never ending, left James Moriarty in a state of annoyed boredom. 

The sniper knew the other man could be... Volatile, but this was different. His eyes narrowed, partially hoping that if he stared hard enough, the answer would magically appear written on his forehead. 

Although his back was turned, Jim continued to unbutton his jacket as he sweetly called out, "My dear, if you keep gawking at me, I might find the need to scoop those pesky eyeballs out from your skull."

Sebastian swiftly straightened. "I apologize, sir."

Jim hummed lightly, tossing the clothing he'd shrugged out of onto a settee. When he tuned back to his second-in-command, he was smiling - admittedly, none too kindly. Strolling over, he swept a hand over his companion's head, fingers threading through the dirty blonde locks. With a cluck of his tongue, Jim tilted his head, voice transforming into a more fond tone. "Oh," he sighed, "what would I do without you?" Sebastian blinked back, expression forcibly blank as the petting turned into a vise-like hold on his hair, pulling with enough strength until he thought it was going to be ripped from his scalp.

He wouldn't have done anything if Jim did, he'd been trained too well, but he was relieved all the same when that grip was gone. Leaning over him, the other man plucked the document he'd been reading from the writing desk, quickly skimming over the contents. Expression cracking with a delighted smile, Jim cooed, "You never fail to amaze me."

At that bit of praise, Sebastian permitted a small smirk, muttering, "Thank you, sir."

"But..." His head snapped up, catching the sidelong stare the other was giving him. "That doesn't mean your work is anywhere near completed." Struck with a sense of confusion, he merely nodded his acknowledgement, waiting patiently for the inevitable order. His employer's hand fell on his shoulder, fingers creeping up to his neck, where a thumb was brushing across. "I need you to play the part of a private dick." The digit's nail pressed in, the pain was minuscule, but the message behind it was apparent. Do NOT fail me. "Do a little digging for me. Put that honed tracking skill of yours to good use..."

He didn't even need to think before the words left his mouth. "Of course, sir."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. sorry for long this took, but I had to come to terms with this chapter, and my thoughts on it.


End file.
